


missed connections

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: COVID-19, Epistolary, M/M, Missed Connections, dog walker phil, meet cute but make it weird, uhh Please Get Off Craigslist Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: of routines slipping from desperate fingers and not knowing how to navigate.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 93
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dickiegreenleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickiegreenleaf/gifts).



> kelly made me very aware of the lack of missed connections fics last night and i couldn't get it out of my mind

Posted 1 June

 **cute guy on the corner of park and baker with the striking blue eyes and an even cuter corgi** **(london)**

(sorry but it’s true)

i was the runner in the black cap and black mask. your hair shined blue in the sun and your dog was rocking a rainbow bandana. when i slowed my pace, i swore i could see the smile in your eyes. was it directed at me or have i gone too long without human interaction? 

would love to know your dog’s name, and maybe also yours. 

\- d

p.s happy pride

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 15 June

**blue eyed, black haired angel of a man outside of starbucks (london)**

maybe the summer heat is getting to me, or maybe you have a twin (if that’s the case 👀) i swear you had a corgi the first time i saw you. you’re still cute but your goldendoodle was cuter, i won’t apologize. your mask was hanging from your ear and you actually smiled at me around the straw of your frappuccino. i would have said hello but. you know. 

\- d

p.s do you have any idea how much sugar is in those things?

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 3 July

**blue eyes, how many dogs do you have? (london)**

running in this heatwave is a death sentence, but the florist reopened so i treated myself to some fresh flowers. they make me feel alive.

you caught my eye as i cut through regent’s walking home with them. your pug was busy peeing on a tree and when you looked at me your eyes quickly went sad. the flowers could be for you if you wanted. 

\- d

p.s what makes you feel alive? 

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 9 July

**corgi guy exiting regent’s park as i was running through (london)**

the corgi returns! but this time he had some new friends. i really hope you work with dogs, because wearing that much topman doesn’t really scream someone that can afford a place big enough in central london to house that many dogs. not a dig at your style, btw. i’ve never seen someone make topman look so good. 

i had the courage to wave, and you were adorable in your attempts to wave back while wrangling all those dogs.

i still don’t have the courage to say hello. 

\- d

p.s i’m not saying if i’m mistaken and you are incredibly rich that i wouldn’t be opposed to a whole sugar daddy type of situation but- wait, actually i shouldn’t be making those types of jokes on a site like this lmao.

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 23 July

**i didn’t see your eyes, but i know they’re blue (london)**

you didn’t see me, but you also don’t see these posts.

you were lacking your usual dogs, but the ones on your mask were awfully cute. you had your nose in your phone and a hand in your hair. you kept messing with it as you passed quickly with an anxious look on your face. i wanted to jog across the street to see if i could ease whatever worries you have, but i was very sweaty.

i’m also kind of a coward. 

i hope everything is okay. 

\- d

p.s it may have just been a bad haircut, it did look a bit shorter. i can relate. why do you think i’m always wearing this cap? 

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 4 August

**your eyes are far more than blue (london)**

you were sat on a bench in regent’s park. i almost stopped because your dane looked really keen for a pat, but we merely did that weird bro nod thing as i ran past. 

i don’t know why i keep writing these. i only came to this site to peruse the free furniture and laugh at the requests for feet pics. 

i think i’m losing steam. 

\- d

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



  
  


Posted 9 September

**blue eyes wrangling a handful of dogs entering the park as i was exiting (london)**

it’s been a while. i’m trying to stay consistent with running, but it’s been hard. like, what’s the point, you know? 

it took me a moment to recognize you. your hair was a delicious mocha brown. it took you a moment to recognize me, but when you did you waved with such a fervor i’m shocked you didn’t slap a fellow pedestrian in the face. the schnauzer you were walking would not stop barking and i’m definitely collecting excuses to stay away. 

\- d

p.s i don’t know if the color is natural, but it really suits you. 

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 18 October

**I didn’t see you, but I feel like I know you. And I’ve been missing you. (london)**

You had brown eyes and hair of the same color that would peek out in sweaty curls from beneath your cap. You were absolutely beautiful. 

You would go on runs at the same time I was working. That’s seemed to have stopped, as have your posts. I regret not reaching out, but life has been strange and we’re more alike than you’d think. 

Let’s make it a little stranger, stranger. 

I’ll be at our park at our time tomorrow. Loaf would like a biscuit. I’d like to stop thinking what if… 

\- P (and also L. He’s offended I’d dare to not include him at first. He doesn’t speak english, but I can just tell - he’s giving me those eyes.)

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers




	2. Chapter 2

Breathe in. 

_No one expects you to feel normal,_ his therapist’s words ring in his ears. It’s weird, because like, no one else in this tiny - god, it’s so fucking tiny - pet shop seems to be bothered by any of this. Only Dan. 

Despite the repetition of the words, it seems a hell of a lot like everyone does _,_ in fact, expect him to be normal. 

Breathe out. 

There’s a very heavy hand of _be careful what you wish for_ energy that has been dancing around his constricting chest for the better half of a year now. The kind that follows him at every reminder of his usual go-to self-deprecating jokes and the whole three quarters of his personality that now makes him feel a bit sour. 

His chest constricts like he’s just ran all the way here, which he hasn’t, so he’s not even sure where it’s stemming from. It might very well be the nerves, because he doesn’t remember having this much anxiety back when he finally was able to book a haircut or when he pops into the florist whenever his flowers die. But also, he’s never remembered feeling this out of breath before a date before. 

_Was this even a date?_

There’s normal and then there’s new normal. And though he’s had more than enough time to adapt, it feels as though the year has slipped from his fingers. Navigating is just like he’s pulled the lever of a soft serve machine but there’s no cones or cups in sight, so he just sticks his hand under and hopes for the best. And it’s like clearly not fucking working, ice cream is dripping down his hand and up his arm and all over his shoes, but for some reason he doesn’t let go of the lever. 

It’s kind of like that. He guesses as he steps up to the counter, and then immediately steps two large strides back with a muffled apology and a request for one of whatever their top selling fancy artisanal dog biscuit is. 

If it phases the employee behind the counter, they don’t show. There’s a simple spiel of _this_ being their best seller, but _that_ is the one all of the dogs really love, and Dan nods at the right times until there’s multiple dog treats being bagged and he’s tapping his phone from a distance to pay. He swipes the brown bag off the counter and somehow remembers to offer pleasantries on his way out. 

This is new normal, it seems. 

He’s still navigating, figuring it all out. The cream seeps through the cracks of his fingers, but at least some still pools in the center of his palm. 

Time has passed. The air around him is chiller now, requiring a jacket that’s zipped up collar makes the black fabric around his face feel less out of place than the time has. But his hands are still warm, he guesses they’ll always be warm. 

Manageable is probably the word. 

There’s things that are easier, things that didn’t change much at all, and things he thought would transition far smoother than they have, or haven’t, been. 

Therapy felt like a slap to the face. Nothing but a viscerally sad type of irony in spending the past however many years of his life groaning about putting jeans on, dragging himself out of his flat, and how it would be _so much better_ to just call or video chat and getting exactly that only to _hate_ it. 

He seriously underestimated how much a fan palm and beige carpeting were contributing to his mental health. When he says as much to his therapist through their pixelated connection, sitting on a stool at his breakfast bar in a striped jumper (that she can see) and pants (that she can’t), she gives him that look that she always does. 

_That’s not what it’s about._

But he’s really lacking in the joke department lately, so he clings to what he can. Reckons that’s why he’s still doing the whole therapy thing anyway. 

That same truth he’s left to float to the back corner of his brain manifests in far too many nights curled up in the crease of his sofa with his laptop on his chest. Not unusual, but different. That would be a great motto for whatever this chapter of his life is. He should learn how to cross-stitch, sew it onto a cushion with dainty flowers around it or something. It’s not like he doesn’t have the time. 

But he doesn’t learn, the Google search of _“cross stitchinf”_ settles in nicely amongst his twenty or so other tabs as he reverts back to the familiar purple peace sign. 

It’s stupid really, glimpses at other people’s lives more genuine than the so-called reality television flicking on the bigger screen across the room. Endless scrolling through other people’s free junk, sometimes their _actual_ junk, and missed connections. 

Other people’s longing, desperation, and heartbreak peppered in between their disgustingly dirt-caked brown sofas listed as _off white_ or _eggshell._

As he scrolls, he dreams of a flat big enough to house the things that wouldn’t be all that bad with a coat of paint or a dark stain. Things that would look pretty with the sparse amount of books he owns and the plants he would probably forget to water. And also, human connection. 

How scrunched up in the browsing position (that’s become so far beyond fucked, he’s basically laying flat on his back with a leg stretched up towards the ceiling) and tying up his running shoes somehow became connected is beyond Dan. But most things are beyond him nowadays, so he doesn’t question it. 

And by that he means he questions it pretty much every hour of the day. 

Running - that’s one constant he so desperately tried to cling to when everything else was all a bit up in the air. And to be honest, he reckons there’s consistency in his inconsistency. It feels authentically Dan to only get out there once every two weeks, or more. But he does have a good record going for him for a while there, after endless days at home have him itching to go outside to do just about _anything._

Running would definitely be tossed on the list of things that aren’t all that bad in all of this. If Dan was keeping track, that is. 

The hot man with all the dogs has nothing to do with it. 

If there were such a thing as fate or serendipity, Dan would be pitching his memoir as a romantic comedy adaptation for the big screen. 

Like seriously, he checks his temperature more than a few times, making sure the chance encounters weren’t a dreamed up symptom of the virus. 

But they weren’t. And they kept happening until they stopped. Mostly, well, mostly because keeping routine in the new normal is like trying to catch bees in a net with holes the size of his fist and expecting to not get stung. The more he swings in a panic, the worse it gets. 

Some days the holes are smaller, and some days there’s no netting at all. 

Dan loses his netting somewhere between the transition from summer to autumn. The change in season bringing with it the unimaginable reality that time is indeed passing, manifesting in about fifteen large steps backwards that he never even realized were advancing to begin with. 

Change seems to be funny like that. 

October arrives with something that momentarily pauses his shaking of the hive, stopping the bees. He didn’t even realize he was the one shaking it. 

It’s a Sunday. Or a Monday. Dan doesn’t really know. If you told him it was April he’d probably agree with a grunt. He sets his net down by his side, pausing his three a.m. scrolling to click through on a posting from ten hours earlier. 

**I didn’t see you, but I feel like I know you. And I’ve been missing you. (london)**

It sounds like the longing he feels in his own heart, the juicy details of someone else’s life he can only witness from the distance of a screen. This time though, this time his breath catches in his chest as he reads. This one extends past the screen. 

Which brings him to something that’s ceased to exist all together. 

Dating. 

It’s not like Dan was hot on the scene or anything before all of this. But there’s a certain kind of comfort in the notion that he could, at any given point in time, spend any number of painstakingly socially draining minutes or hours in some club or bar until he’s pushing someone into his bed or rolling into someone else’s. 

Now, in the new normal, there’s like, three hundred separate reasons why Dan could clutch his pearls at the very idea. And a dick in his ass is like, so far down on that list it’s exhausting to even start counting. 

He does a lot of missing things he’s never missed before. There’s the thought of swiping dating apps, just for something to do. But where’s the point in that? 

There’s some kind of regression looming at the very idea, one that he’ll maybe discuss with his therapist one day. Maybe. One that places him back in the beige of his childhood bedroom, where connection through the distance of a screen felt far less… weird. 

Even zoom calls with close friends become exhausting. Finding a balance and teetering between over and under compensating just leaves him feeling bad. He can’t imagine putting that kind of energy out to a stranger, so he surprises himself when he does. 

His hands tremble only slightly. One gripped around the doggy bag and the other shoved into the pocket of his coat, walking towards the park his Nike’s haven’t seen in weeks. 

Or is it months? Month, maybe?

Time just seems fucked, if he’s being honest. 

He’s standing off to the side, by the entrance they’ve passed each other by a handful of times with nothing more than a wave or a nod. 

Hot guy. Too many dogs guy. P, as Dan has learned. 

Dan has wondered - far too often in the late nights under too hot, and then too cold, bed covers - what his name is. If it would suit him and how it would taste on his lips. He’s shuffled through a plethora of guesses - John, Kyle, Alexander, to name a few - none of which seemed to fit. And, for whatever reason, none began with P. 

Dan tries to list all of the names he can think of that start with a P as his feet carry him forward. He catches the attention of those blue eyes he didn’t realize he missed until they smile at him, and all his mind can seem to supply is Paul. 

He doesn’t look like a Paul. Dan reminds himself to not actually shake his head with the thought. He hopes he isn’t a Paul. 

P waves, his dog gets up from beside his feet and lets out a little boof at Dan. Dan waves. 

For the first time, Dan doesn’t keep walking. He wants to, actually, but not in the other direction like usual. With bright eyes smiling at Dan, in the only way one could considering the navy cloth dotted in twinkling stars, all he wants to do is move his feet until he’s pressed right up against the inexplicable inviting aura that’s radiating off of the other man. 

But he can’t. Do that, that is. So he stops at what he’s learned is an appropriate distance now and doesn’t have even a fraction of a second to begin to spiral, because there’s words coming from the galaxy. 

“It isn’t Derrick, right?” 

Dan tugs his brows together. “ _Wot?_ ” 

“Your name. I’ve been wondering what it is and I had the horrible realization on the walk over here that it could be Derrick. And I mean, like, it’s a decent name and all, but I dated a Derrick and he was a right twat. So now it’s ruined for me, but-” 

“Dan,” Dan says with a chuckle, entirely overwhelmed by the amount of information thrown at him to categorize. 

The deepness of his voice, the northern lilt to it. The way he uses both hands as he speaks, no regard for the fact that there’s a dog’s leash in one of them. Almost everyone Dan knows makes fun of him for that, too - the passionate use of his hands he’s learned to hold back with a grip of the inside of his pocket or interlocked fingers settled in his lap. Dan doesn’t see what they see when he looks at P. 

The hands stop and Dan is flashed even brighter eyes. 

“ _Dan,”_ is repeated back to him in a tone Dan won’t soon forget. 

“Phil,” the man across from him adds with a hand to his chest. Dan holds back the snicker climbing its way up his throat at the thought of how absolutely caveman the action is. 

Dan feels a bit like a caveman, bumbling around as he tries to understand the world like someone who’s never seen fire before. 

“Phil.” The name is warm honey on Dan’s tongue. The floral notes linger. 

Phil’s cheeks squish up higher, a glint of _something_ in his eyes. 

“Dan,” Phil says again, the word nothing less than laughter. 

A well-timed bark. 

Phil smiles down at the dog by his feet, little legs tugging against his short lead. He looks from the dog to Dan, a hand gesturing to the corgi. “Loaf.” 

“Loaf!” Dan repeats with the familiar tone of someone who’s about to run up and hug an old friend. It sets off loud, unrestricted laughter, and Dan feels like the sound is something he’s been missing his entire life. 

He also feels a bit out of his mind. For once it feels good. It feels good to be laughing on the pavement with a stranger. It feels good to feel a little silly without any real reason. 

If only for a moment, it feels good to be thinking about how _good_ he feels without the lingering weirdness of the distance or the barrier between their smiles. 

“Can I pet your dog?” Dan asks. Because of course he does. 

He doesn’t know if that’s an okay thing to do, he unsuccessfully tries to locate it on his ever-growing list of do’s and don’ts that’s constantly changing and only really serves to do his head in. He reckons Phil’s the type of person to keep that information in his top ten, so he trusts he’ll tell him if it’s alright. 

“Yes, of course. He probably wouldn’t let us walk if you didn’t honestly.” Phil laughs. He lets the leash unravel from where it’s been wrapped around his hand and Dan doesn’t know who’s faster: him dropping down on a knee to greet the corgi or the dog zooming forward the second he gets more leeway. 

Dan scratches between soft ears and Loaf noses at the bag in his hand. 

“ _Hello._ I was told you take bribes,” Dan coos in that high pitched voice of his he reserves only for cute babies and small animals. There’s a laugh from above him as he offers the dog one of the biscuits. 

“Just like his dad.” 

Dan looks up with a grin. 

“Oh, would you like one then?” He shakes the bag at Phil. Which in hindsight is a bad idea, because Loaf immediately jumps up for it, his little legs bouncing on Dan’s thigh. 

Phil shakes his head, laughing. Dan shrugs, letting the pleading corgi have another. 

Once every microscopic crumb has been licked off Dan’s fingers and the peanut buttery bacon smell has been replaced with the alcoholic eucalyptus of the sanitizer in his coat pocket, he pushes up off the ground to meet Phil’s eyes head on. They’re definitely more than just blue. 

“Shall we?” Phil asks, gesturing to the park’s entrance. Dan nods. 

Loaf leads the way, choosing their path as they fall into step. It’s weird, but Dan doesn’t think there could be any way to make the situation less weird. 

He reckons if he put his arm out, and Phil put his arm out, the tips of their fingers would barely brush. Actually, they probably wouldn’t brush at all, he decides as he measures the distance with his eyes. 

There’s an odd sense of familiarity as they talk in slightly raised voices to be heard over the bustle of the park. It’s not the quiet, hushed tones and shoulders bumping serene park walk any romantic dreams of, but it’s also not the hot breath on his neck, loud voice in his ear bar pickup Dan used to be familiar with either. It’s something else entirely. Weird, but not bad. 

Perhaps another new normal. 

“I’ll be honest, I kind of forgot Craigslist even existed,” Phil says casually, slipped in after a comment about the falling leaves. 

“So,” Dan says, his face heating in embarrassment at the thought. He’s suddenly glad half of his face is covered. “When did you uh…” He waves his hand in the air, not at all clarifying his question, but somehow Phil gets it. 

Phil squints his eyes, looking forward. “Early June?” He hums, as if he’s mulling over the answer that’s more of a question before nodding and turning his head to look back to Dan. “A bit after your first post, whenever that was.” 

Dan huffs out a laugh. “Time is fake.” 

Phil laughs, too. 

“We managed to both get ourselves here at the same time today though,” Phil says after a beat. 

“Hm,” Dan hums. Phil is speaking again before he can offer a rebuttal. 

“But maybe that’s just fate.”

“Fate isn’t real either. Maybe less real than time.” 

Phil is the one to hum this time. With the way his eyes squint and his cheeks squish up as he thinks, Dan so desperately wishes he could see the rest of his face. The expression is cute, but it’s probably, actually so much cuter. And Dan feels cheated of the experience. 

“Is everything fake?” Phil asks with furrowed brows, looking up towards the sky. Dan isn’t sure if he’s asking him or the clouds or like, _God_ , but he chuckles anyway. 

“Hm, might be,” Dan says with a sly smile hidden behind black fabric. “I still haven’t decided yet.” 

Phil nods resolutely. “Alright, let me know when you do.” 

“Sure thing,” Dan says, two of his fingers lifting and tapping at his forehead before he can even stop himself. 

“It was my brother who found your post,” Phil circles them back, just as Loaf loops them back the way they came after spotting a squirrel. He tugs at the leash and Dan flips his phone around in his coat pocket, just for something to do with his hands. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. He’s apparently on there all the time. Something about treasure hunting? I don’t know, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.” 

Dan snorts. “Just be happy he isn’t seeking granny toes.” 

Phil whips his head to the side, looking at Dan with wide eyes. “What?!”

Dan lifts a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t ask.” 

“You can’t just-” Phil laughs, “you can’t just say that without any context.” 

“Mate, the context makes it so much worse.” 

Phil narrows his eyes, looking Dan up and down in a way that shouldn’t make his skin heat up to a thousand degrees - and yet it does.

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

Dan laughs. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed this much. He also doesn’t remember the last time he clicked so easily with someone like this. 

“So he called me right?” Phil reels them back in once they’ve managed to look at each other for more than four seconds without bursting into giggles. Because apparently they’re two, thirty-something and almost-thirty year old, teenagers. 

“And he was like ‘I just saw this post on missed connections and I swear it sounds just like you’ and I was like, ‘right mate, sure’,” Phil dramatically rolls his eyes. “But then he read it to me and I literally dropped my phone in the toilet.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I was shocked! I knew it was me. I knew it was _you!”_

“No, I mean why the fuck were you-” Dan shakes his head, waving the thought away. “You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” 

“What? I-” 

“No,” Dan full on wheezes as he shakes his head. “Let’s not kill the mystery just yet.” 

Phil’s eyes go smug. He tilts his chin up towards Dan. “So there’s a mystery to be preserving?” 

Dan hums. “You tell me, I’m the Craigslist weirdo.” 

Phil frowns at that. At least, _well_. Dan thinks that’s what his face is doing, blue eyes going wide and sad as they search whatever expression they’re seeing in Dan’s. 

Trepidation, is what’s there. But Dan isn’t sure if they’re at that level of comprehension yet. 

“It’s been weird,” Phil says eventually, quieter. 

Dan huffs, _you got that right._

“Not you,” Phil adds quickly, gesturing his hand in the distance between the two of them. “Not you, but like… life.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Dan says. “But also, I _am_ weird, soo…” 

“Me too.” Phil looks around, then back to Dan with a small step closer. “Like, really weird,” he says it loud enough for Dan to hear, but quiet enough for it to seem like a secret. 

“I can tell,” Dan quips, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. 

“Oh _you_ …” Phil narrows his eyes, but the squish of his cheeks give away his own smile. “I would so give you a shove right now if, well. You know.” 

“Yeah,” Dan hums. “I know.” 

After a stretch of quiet in which they pass two park benches and four other dogs - each of which Phil waves to, Dan clears his throat. 

“It is weird, isn’t it?” Dan doesn’t clarify what the _it_ is. 

“Weird isn’t all that bad, right?” Phil asks. 

Dan shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He thinks for a moment, careful with his words. “Sometimes weird is different. Sometimes weird is good.” 

“Hm,” Phil hums. “I like that.” 

“Yeah?” Dan tilts his head to the side, a small, fond smile hidden under his mask. 

Phil nods, looking ahead. Dan counts the wrinkles at the corner of his eye as they continue to be walked by Phil’s dog. 

He is a dog walker. Which makes a lot of sense, considering Dan would need a third hand to count all of the different dogs he’s seen him with. As they kick leaves and Loaf attempts to scare off every unfazed pigeon along their route, Phil tells Dan how the year has been for him. Work picking up and Phil going out, despite the anxiety that still pulls at his chest. Because it’s his job, and he’s healthy and young and lives alone, so the least he can do is be there for the people and their pups who aren’t as fortunate. 

Dan tells Phil how he’s much of the same, though he’s had the luxury of working from home. He’s grateful for it, but he’s starting to think that decision was less about keeping people safe and more about the cut costs of not having anyone in office. There’s a whole long winded rant about capitalism and corporate greed that takes them past a dozen more dogs that Phil, of course, waves at. 

Dan starts to wave too. 

Phil looks sad when he mentions how he hasn’t seen his parents outside of pixelated zoom calls, and Dan feels that swirl of guilt in the pit of his stomach at the reminder that he hasn’t once had similar thoughts in at least five months or so. 

In all honesty, that’s nothing new. 

Dan would say they talked and talked until they ran out of words. But they never did seem to run out of words. 

Dan always liked to run here, because he could go and go and not have to loop back around the same way thirty times before his legs demanded respite. Looping around is less of a bore with Phil by his side, and they could very well have been walking for hours before Loaf is the one to decide that enough is enough and tugs them over to an empty bench. 

Dan would check the time on his phone, but he doesn’t feel the need to. 

There’s a splayed out corgi’s length of distance between them on the bench, and Dan smiles down at the head in his lap. Dogs really don’t get the whole social distancing thing. He can’t blame them. 

“I’m really glad you wrote back,” Dan says, daring to stretch his foot over to nudge at the side of Phil’s vans. He pulls it back as quickly as the brief tap. 

“I kept kicking myself for not reaching out sooner, and then your posts stopped.” Phil looks up from where he’s scratching at Loaf’s side with that incredibly cute cocked head of his. “But I don’t know. It feels like we weren’t meant to meet until now. If that makes any sense.” 

It makes more sense than anything else has lately. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I get what you mean.” 

He looks from Phil to the spread out people passing them by. Some walking dogs, some being walked by dogs, some pushing babies, some with masks, a heck of a lot without. 

“It’s just weird,” Dan ponders aloud in a low voice, “realizing that life goes on. My brain has a hard time processing that still, I think.” 

Phil hums in acknowledgement or agreement, Dan isn’t yet fluent in the language. He’d like to be, he thinks. 

“Life finds a way.” 

Dan rips his eyes from the jogger pushing a pram, looking to Phil with a baffled smile. 

“Phil, you did not just-” 

“Well it’s true!” 

“I think I hate you a little bit.” Dan’s eyes crinkle as he smiles wider. 

Phil clicks his tongue. “Darn,” Phil shakes his head. “And here I’ve been growing so fond.” 

The blush that blooms across Dan’s face is immediate. His cheeks start to ache as Phil’s eyes twinkle, more realistic than the stars on his mask. 

“I’m smiling right now,” Dan feels compelled to say. “If you couldn’t tell. I just wanted you to know, I’m smiling really fucking hard right now.” 

Before Phil can respond, Dan is shaking his head, “That sounded less weird in my head, but I haven’t really… cared all that much if people could tell that I’m smiling lately. I really want you to know that I am, for some reason.” 

“I can tell, Dan,” Phil says quickly. “At least, I think I can,” he adds with his own small tap to the side of Dan’s shoe. 

Phil squints his eyes as he looks at Dan. 

“Your eyes go all crinkly and bright,” Phil points to his own, blues and yellows and greens getting impossibly brighter as he giggles. Dan is too transfixed to even realize he’s mimicking the expression. “Yeah, like that.” 

They say infatuation makes you do stupid things, but Dan thinks he very well may have been stupid from the get-go. He also thinks this might be a little bit more than infatuation, but the jury’s still out on that. 

Without a second though, he uses his free hand - because it would be downright illegal to stop scratching Loaf’s ears - to slip his index finger under the elastic behind his ear. His smile meets his eyes and Phil’s go wide. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” is all Phil says. 

Then, when Dan’s smile starts to falter, Phil shakes his head. 

“No, no. You have dimples.” Phil lifts his hands to wiggle both of his index fingers, pointing at each of Dan’s cheeks. Dan snorts at Phil’s awe, but the laughter in his chest is cut off with an intake of breath as Phil lets his own mask hang from his ear. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite fit?” Dan asks with a tilt of his head.

Phil huffs out a laugh, incredibly pink, incredibly soft looking lips tugging up into a smirk. “Once or twice,” he says with a shrug. 

Dan snorts, because Phil is funny. But also, because he’s so ridiculously enamored he doesn’t know what else to do with the feeling. 

“This would be the moment where I lean over and kiss you, you know, if I wanted to end up on either r/Relationships or the evening news for eventually strangling the stranger I had to self quarantine with.” 

Dan lets out an absolute cackle of a laugh. One that reaches all the way up to the trees, permeating through the loud soundtrack of London surrounding them.

He really, _really_ likes this guy. 

There’s a wordless exchange between two shared smiles before elastic is slipped back over both of their ears. 

Maybe human connection is just weird. 

Posted 20 November 

**blue eyed monster of a man (london)**

last seen letting the other side of my bed go cold. 

you were the one that left not one but three (seriously three?? how did you manage to do that??? have you lost a foot?? gained a foot?? what’s the deal here?) socks on my coffee table. 

i was the one that hit my head on the cabinet you left open after making the instant coffee you insisted upon bringing into my flat. 

\- your disgruntled boyfriend

p.s we’re out of milk, can you please get oat 

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



Posted 20 November

**Curly boy who definitely snores (london)**

Last seen still in dreamland, approximately 15 kisses were left on your forehead. 

You were the one those socks belonged to. They must have walked there on their own. 

I was the one that took your last clean pair of pants before leaving for work, so you might want to do laundry. 

I’ll be the one hurrying the dogs along. You’ll be the one looking in the fridge and texting me if we need anything else before I stop by the store. Cereal too, I’m guessing?

\- Your guy whom you love so very much 

P.S. What flowers are you feeling today? 

  * do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and legends say every user of craigslist london _hates_ them
> 
> i woke up this morning to see kelly had made [this beautiful art!!!!](https://twitter.com/finalfeud/status/1279761280061104129?s=20) so i decided to post this while she was sleeping because i love her and also i'm a little shit  
> wait [look at it again on tumblr too](https://finalfeud.tumblr.com/post/622806281931063296/do-not-contact-me-with-unsolicited-services-or) because it begs to be looked at again  
> (if you know me and kelly you should not be at all surprised to know that she never had access to my gdoc and i never told her i wrote phil in a galaxy mask yet that's exactly what she drew)
> 
> i hope ya'll enjoyed this, it was an oddly cathartic one to write so thanks for letting me fling it into the void


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